


This Will Pass

by Sohotthateveryonedied



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Robin (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Dick Grayson is a Good Brother, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Local girl literally Cannot Stop projecting onto fictional characters, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Tim Drake Has Anxiety Disorder, Tim Drake Has Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 04:27:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22426192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sohotthateveryonedied/pseuds/Sohotthateveryonedied
Summary: Tim has anxiety attacks sometimes. Dick is a good brother and helps him out.
Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson
Comments: 15
Kudos: 303





	This Will Pass

**Author's Note:**

> I know I keep saying this but I _am_ taking a break from writing, I swear. The last few have simply been exceptions to the rule and don't count. I was anxious for no reason last night and writing usually helps me get my head back on straight, so I wrote it all down and yeah. Doesn't count. Merely a squibble. Practically a ghost fic.

Everything is okay. _  
__  
__Nothing is._  
  
There’s nothing to panic over.  
  
 _Not true._  
  
Tim is perfectly fine.  
  
And yet.  
  
His hands are shaking. Have been shaking for upwards of fifteen minutes now, to the point where his pen clatters to the desk of its own volition. His Spanish essay is only half-finished, but he knows any hope for focus is a lost cause in this condition. He can’t do _anything_ when it gets like this.  
  
He threads one trembling hand through his hair, nails scratching his scalp until even that makes him jittery. Everything is jittery. It won’t stop.  
  
“You’re okay,” he whispers. He takes a deep breath, and then another one.  
  
 _Something’s wrong._  
  
“There’s nothing to freak out over.”  
  
 _You’re in danger._  
  
Tim balls his hands into fists and narrows in on the sting of fingernails digging into the soft skin of his palms. Clings to it like a lifeline. His heart pounds, picking up in tempo until it thrums in his ears, knocks against his chest.  
  
Steady breath. “You’re okay. You’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay.”  
  
There’s not even anything here to be _anxious_ about. He was _literally_ just sitting here in the quiet of Bruce’s study, calmly doing homework. There’s no reason for his body to be freaking out like this.  
  
 _Everyone is dying. You need to do something._  
  
This is irrational, he knows. Bruce is at Wayne Enterprises today. Alfred is dusting in the library. Dana has back-to-back clients today, and Dad’s on a business trip. Everyone is okay.  
  
 _Dick is dying. He’s dying and you’re not there._  
  
Dick is at work too. He’s fine. Everyone is fine.  
  
 _Except._  
  
Except Dick is a police officer. Police officers put their lives on the line all the time, even when they don’t double as vigilantes. He could be hurt. He could be bleeding out in a gutter somewhere. He could be getting shot by gang members. He could be choking on a doughnut.  
  
 _You need to call him. He’s hurt. He’s in danger. He’s dying._  
  
Tim grips his cell phone so tightly he has to work to loosen his fingers so they don’t crack the screen. He doesn’t even remember picking it up.  
  
“This isn’t rational.”  
  
 _He’s hurt. He’s bleeding out. You need to call him. You need to make sure he’s okay._

Before Tim can think it through, he’s pressing the two on speed dial and raising the phone to his ear, panicked breaths locked behind his teeth.  
  
It rings.  
  
And rings.  
  
 _He’s not picking up._  
  
Bile creeps up Tim’s throat.  
  
 _He’s dead. He’s gone. Something horrible happened and you weren’t there and now he’s dead and soon everyone else will be too and there’s nothing you can do about it._  
  
Just as tears begin to glaze over Tim’s eyes, he hears a click, and then Dick’s voice. _“Hey, man. What’s up?”_  
  
A wave of dizziness washes over him, relief colliding with the panic which still hasn’t subsided, but it’s lessened enough that he can squeeze out, “Dick.”  
  
 _“You caught me at a good time. Amy and I are on break at that place I took you to last time you were here, the one with the garlic knots?”_ Tim remembers. _“So what have you been up to? How’s school going?”_  
  
Tim swallows. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out.  
  
Dick doesn’t miss the abnormal lack of chatter. Or maybe he can hear how fast Tim’s breathing is, even over the receiver. _“Tim? You okay?”_  
  
Tim finds himself shaking his head even though Dick won’t see it. “Sorry,” he manages, but even to his own ears it sounds strained. “Sorry. I don’t know why I called you.”  
  
 _“It’s all right, buddy, I don’t mind. Did something happen?”_  
  
“No.”  
  
 _He hates you. You’re bothering him. He wants you to hang up._  
  
There’s a brief pause, then a quiet, _“Hang on, I’ll be right back.”_ Dick must be talking to Amy. After a few more tense seconds he says, _“Okay, Tim. Talk to me. What’s going on?”_  
  
His throat feels like it’s closing up. “I don’t know.”  
  
 _“Were you drugged with something?”_  
  
“No.”  
  
 _“Did anything happen on patrol?”_  
  
“No.”   
  
_“...Is it anxiety?”_  
  
Tim bites his lip hard. “Mm-hm.”  
  
 _“Gotcha. What brought it on?”_  
  
“I was just—doing homework,” Tim gets out. “There’s nothing—it wasn’t—”  
  
 _“Hey,”_ Dick says gently, _“calm down. It’s okay. Take a deep breath.”_  
  
He does.  
  
 _“You’re okay. This will pass.”_  
  
Except it won’t. It’s already been too long, and Tim’s hands are shaking and goosebumps rush over his skin and his heart is beating too fast. It’s too much. Everything is wrong and it’s too much.  
  
“I can’t breathe.”  
  
 _“Yes, you can. You’re talking, which means you’re breathing. It’s okay.”_  
  
Tim leans until his forehead rests on the cool surface of Bruce’s desk. A tear blots the ink on his homework. “I hate this.”  
  
 _“I know,”_ Dick says. _“But it’ll pass soon.”_  
  
Tim closes his eyes and concentrates on the slow whooshing of air in his lungs, and it’s shaky, but at least it’s something. “Can you—keep talking? I don’t care what about, just—just tell me something. Please.”  
  
Dick thinks for a second. _“They got a new espresso machine down at the precinct. That work?”_ Tim makes an affirmative noise, so Dick continues. _“The chief got it as a Christmas gift or whatever, except he’s been on some caffeine-free health cleanse lately, so he gave it to us.”_  
  
He launches into a tale about over-eager rookies getting hyped up on espresso at six in the morning—one of whom knocked over a potted plant with her nightstick—followed by a five-minute rant on how espresso in and of itself is a conspiracy since they charge you extra money for such tiny cups of the stuff.  
  
 _“Whatever happened to good, old-fashioned black coffee? Don’t get me wrong, I like my daily nonfat soy vanilla latte as much as the next guy. But at least put the damn thing on the_ menu _so we all feel better about ourselves, y’know?”_ Tim snorts. _“You doing better now?”_  
  
The hyperventilating has simmered down to slow, even breaths, and the shaking has fizzled out to nothing. The dizziness recedes. Tim still feels jittery, but at least he no longer feels the urge to run and hide. “Yeah, I think so. Thanks. Sorry.”  
  
 _“No problem, kiddo. You know I’m always here for you.”_ Then he hesitates, and Tim knows what’s coming. _“Listen...have you ever thought about talking to Bruce about all this? I’m sure he can hook you up with a therapist or some meds, just to take the edge off.”_  
  
“I’m handling it.”  
  
 _“I know you are. God knows you’re better at managing this kind of stuff than most adults are. But you don’t have to do it on your own.”_  
  
Tim curls the corner of his homework, rolling the paper between his fingertips. “I know.”  
  
 _“Just think about it, okay? That’s all I’m asking.”_  
  
“Yeah,” he says, hollow. “I’ll try.”  
  
He can hear Dick’s smile. _“Good. Now I’m pretty sure my sandwich is getting cold, so I’ve got to scram. Are you gonna be okay?”_  
  
“Yeah,” Tim says, nodding. “Yeah. Go. Just...be careful, all right?”  
  
 _“Always am.”_  
  
They hang up, and Tim lets his phone slip back onto the desk. He sighs and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, utterly wiped out from the attack.  
  
In a perfect world, he’d take Dick up on his offer. He’d find Bruce as soon as he got home and ask if they could look into some therapists, maybe check out any resources the League might have since it’s not like superheroes can go about this the way _normal_ people do.  
  
Then again.  
  
In a perfect world, Tim wouldn’t be stuck with anxiety in the first place. 

**Author's Note:**

> I had no idea how to end this so like. Whoops. If you leave a comment, you'll either have super good luck for the next twenty-four hours, or you'll get mugged. Fifty/fifty chance. 
> 
> [Feel free to mosey on down to my Tumblr!](http://sohotthateveryonedied.tumblr.com/)


End file.
